


Mouthful of Diamonds

by ellipsometry



Series: mouthful of diamonds [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Drama, Guns, M/M, Seduction, Undercover, etc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: “You won’t mind if I try,” Daichi says, smiling, “To figure you out, that is.”Oikawa wonders if he really did have too much to drink, because the floor below him feels a bit tilted for a second, and Iwaizumi is grumbling something in his earpiece, and Oikawa is far, far too experienced with conning and charming and fooling people from all walks of life to be thrown off kilter by some no-name office worker with a nice smile and kind eyes and—“Give it a shot,” Oikawa says, flippant, “But better men than you have tried.”Oikawa is a white collar criminal, Daichi is an undercover cop.  They (accidentally) attempt to seduce each other.





	Mouthful of Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK ON MY BULLSHIT  
> come talk to me on twit [@ellipsometry_](http://www.twitter.com/ellipsometry_) :)

FILE > DOCUMENTS > SEIJOU SYNDICATE > PROFILES > OIKAWA 01-1  
SURNAME: Oikawa  
GIVEN NAME: Unknown  
HAIR COLOR: Brown  
EYE COLOR: Brown (note: subject often uses colored contacts)  
HEIGHT: Between 175cm and 185cm  
WEIGHT: Unknown

ALIAS: The Grand King  
AFFILIATIONS: Kitagawa Group (former), Seijou (current)

SUSPECTED OF: Aiding and abetting a criminal, Assault with a deadly weapon, Counterfeiting, Embezzlement, Fraud, Theft

NOTES:  
Aided Iwaizumi Hajime in escape from authorities  
Polyglot (known languages: Japanese, English, Standard Mandarin, French)  
Will certainly be armed during any encounter - take necessary precautions  
Informal leader of Seijou crime syndicate

 

+

 

The earpiece isn’t fitting quite right, and Oikawa makes a mental note to berate Yahaba about it later.  It takes more finagling than desirable to fit the tiny object into his ear, and when he finally succeeds, Oikawa is rewarded with the dulcet tones of one Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Hey, Shittykawa, you’re gonna be late!”

“Iwa- _chan!_ ” Oikawa whines, wincing at the noise and adjusting his earpiece again, as well as moving the miniscule microphone hidden under the lapel of his suit jacket so Iwaizumi can better hear him, “You’re so rude!  And that’s not my code name!”

Iwaizumi snorts, “I’ll be dead in the ground before I call you the fuckin’ _Grand King_ , that’s for damn sure.”

“Your loss!” Oikawa chirps, “So, how do I look?”

“Dunno, I don’t have eyes on you.  Yahaba couldn’t get into the hotel’s CCTV,” a pause, “But you always look good.”

“Iwa-chan, you charmer!” Oikawa laughs, ignoring Iwaizumi’s noisy protestations on the other end of the comm link and giving himself a final once-over in the mirror.

The hotel is about is as swanky as they come, and Oikawa is dressed to match in a crisp, navy blue suit, complimented with a pale pink tie. His soft curls have been properly tamed, slicked to the side in order to hide the small earpiece through which Iwaizumi will be feeding him information.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s voice is quiet, and Oikawa’s hand stills where it had been reaching for the doorknob, “Be careful.”

He says it every time they do this, regardless of whether Oikawa is going in for a high-level heist or just collecting information with his trademark wink and a smile.  And it could go unsaid, but there’s something comforting about the fact that it never does.

“Of course,” Oikawa says, smiling as he straightens his tie, heading out of the room and down the hall, “I’m in your care, after all.”  


 

 

The hotel ballroom looks like something out of a movie, bathed in light as golden and rich as the champagne being passed around the room by stiff-necked waiters in bow ties and suspenders.  Socialites and businessmen congregate in small groups around the room, chattering and laughing about whatever it is that rich people do.  There’s a large ice sculpture at the head of the buffet, shaped like the logo of the company sponsoring this particular soiree.

The man of honor, a billionaire Chinese banker, is a larger-than-life presence smack dab in the center of the room.  His newest business partner, head of the prominent Japanese pharma company Tanabe Pharmaceuticals, is demure and kind in appearance, and he shrinks in comparison.  Chairman Li, unlike many of the obscenely wealthy men Oikawa has crossed paths with over the years, actually has an ego and a personality as large as his bank account.  He’s gregarious and outspoken to the point of rudeness, and tonight he’s clad in a double-breasted suit with two young women fawning over him, each clinging to one arm.  He’s like a character out of a bad spy movie.

Frankly, Oikawa loves it.

And what he loves even more is the opportunity of it all, the chance to take advantage of a rich man’s hubris and ego.  Chairman Li and Tanabe-san are formalizing their business deal tonight, and the intel Seijou has collected indicates the back-end of the deal will involve some very important information passing hands behind the scenes.

Iwaizumi usually prefers to deal in tangibles -- money, art, jewels.  But Oikawa has always enjoyed a good secret, especially a profitable one.  So, tonight, they’re following his lead, trying to bleed as much information from the many posh partygoers as possible.

Oikawa takes in the lay of the land – nothing looks amiss, but a glance around the room reveals familiar faces.  Kindaichi at the door, posing as security; Matsukawa at the bar mixing drinks; Kunimi in a well-starched caterer’s uniform, passing out hors d’oeuvres.  And, though they’re out of sight, Oikawa knows Hanamaki and Watari are upstairs surreptitiously rooting through abandoned hotel rooms.  Iwaizumi and Yahaba, meanwhile, are huddled in their escape vehicle, ready to swoop in should anything go awry.  

But nothing should – go awry, that is.  It’s a fairly routine night of information-gathering, and every step has already been orchestrated.  Seijou is nothing if not thorough.

“By the way,” Iwaizumi says, “Kunimi says he’s gonna kill you for making him wear suspenders.”

Oikawa laughs under his breath, making himself busy, snatching a drink off a nearby waiter’s tray and taking a long sip.  He slips into conversations so effortlessly it’s almost eerie.  Yahaba’s well-researched profiles of most of the invitees means that Oikawa has memorized most cursory info about every person, meaning that it’s child’s play for him to instantly endear himself to anyone he crosses paths with.

And, when he draws a blank, there’s Iwaizumi rattling off information into Oikawa’s ear, privileged information collected through less savory means.  There’s Chairman Li’s youngest son, favored by his father by wanting in intellect, rejected outright by Oxford University; that’s Li’s bodyguard, who submitted his letter of resignation just two days ago; to your right is Tanabe-san’s former mistress, who received a marriage proposal from a childhood friend last month.  What they’re searching for is pressure points, soft spots Oikawa can press and prod at with expert precision, until he gets the information he came here for.  

“Dead end,” Iwaizumi proclaims, as Oikawa chats up a young woman who is apparently the assistant to high-level VP at Tanabe Pharmaceuticals, “She doesn’t know anything.”

“You are such an expert in knowing when people don’t know,” Oikawa says under his breath as he excuses himself and snatches another drink, “Iwa-chan is so talented.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi’s voice is gruff with frustration.  The night has been full of nothing but dead ends so far, with only some scraps of information here and there.  Even Oikawa is having trouble getting close to the inner circle surrounding Chairman Li, and he can only hope that Hanamaki and Watari are having better luck upstairs.

“And don’t get too drunk, Idiotkawa.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and pours the rest of his champagne into a nearby potted plant to appease Iwaizumi, “Happy?”

“Not really?”

Oikawa almost chokes on nothing when he realizes the voice isn’t coming from Iwaizumi in his ear, but from a man standing across from him, eyeing the wet patch of dirt where Oikawa’s just dumped his drink.  The man doesn’t look familiar at all, but he’s handsome and well-dressed, which is more than enough to grab Oikawa’s attention, and with it, his wits.

“Not a fan of champagne?” the man asks, giving Oikawa a wry smile.

“I’m trying not to make any poor decisions tonight,” Oikawa smiles, “I’m sure you understand.”

The man shrugs, “Not sure I do.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes, watching the man take a sip of his own drink, amber liquid in a short glass tumbler, “You don’t really look like a guy who makes bad decisions.”  And he really doesn’t.  The stranger is handsome in a classic, wholesome way, with deep brown eyes that crinkle at the corners as he smiles at Oikawa.  He’s clean-cut to the bone, from his close-cropped hair all the way down to his modest dress shoes.

“Guess not.  I might be a bit boring.”

And _that’s_ certainly a strange thing for someone to say at a party like this, a party where everyone is trying so desperately to seem interesting and alluring, hiding behind money when personality fails them.

“Tooru…” Iwaizumi says warningly, as Oikawa lays a hand on the stranger’s forearm, asking, “What’s your name?”

A pause, “Call me Daichi,” the man says, detaching Oikawa’s hand from his arm with his free hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of Oikawa’s palm, as if Oikawa were some maiden to be wooed.

“How old fashioned!” Oikawa squeaks, face going red in spite of himself, “What century are we in, Dai-chan?”

Daichi just shrugs again, looking a bit pleased with himself.  He doesn’t comment on the nickname – it’s a pretty reflexive habit of Oikawa’s – and it takes Oikawa a second to realize that Daichi is waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, I’m—” Oikawa extends his hand again, this time for a proper handshake.  But the moment his hand makes contact with the warmth of Daichi’s palm, his mind goes blank again, his chosen alias for the evening out the window, until he finds himself saying, “I’m Tooru.”

“You fucking— Your real name?   _Really?!_  I swear to fucking—” Iwaizumi is cursing and ranting in Oikawa’s ear, but Oikawa is focused instead on the small smile on Daichi’s face, the way he focuses all his attention on Oikawa.  As if it were just the two of them in a giant, empty ballroom.

“What brings a nice guy like you to a place like this?” Oikawa asks, if only to regain his upper hand.

“I’m here to support Tanabe-san, he’s an old family friend.  Well, and my boss, technically,” Daichi says after they break their handshake, “Who dragged you here?  Or is this your usual scene?”

“A bit of both,” Oikawa says, “You could say I’m an interested party.”  He’s keeping an eye on the rest of the partygoers over Daichi’s shoulder, inching toward an alcove in the wall to try and give them a bit of privacy, hoping Daichi will follow.

He does, raising both eyebrows and giving Oikawa a thorough once-over, “How mysterious.”

“Oh, you know, I’m an enigma,” Oikawa jokes, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall, “A man of mystery, no one will ever figure me out, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You won’t mind if I try,” Daichi says, smiling, “To figure you out, that is.”

Oikawa wonders if he really did have too much to drink, because the floor below him feels a bit tilted for a second, and Iwaizumi is grumbling something in his earpiece, and Oikawa is far, _far_ too experienced with conning and charming and fooling people from all walks of life to be thrown off kilter by some no-name office worker with a nice smile and kind eyes and—

“Give it a shot,” Oikawa says, flippant, “But better men than you have tried.”

“Better men than me,” Daichi considers his drink, “I sincerely doubt that.”

For some reason, Oikawa believes him.

 

+

 

When the news comes, Tanaka is the most upset out of everyone.

“Am I just not meant to have a partner?” His voice is muffled, head buried in his hands, “First Noya, now you!”

“Why does he make it sound like we died?” Nishinoya asks through a mouthful of his lunch.

Daichi wishes he could offer some sympathetic sentiment to Tanaka, but the truth is that he’s been aiming for this transfer for a while.  Being a detective may sound exciting, but the doldrum of the daily police beat had begun to weigh Daichi down.  Tanaka was a fun partner, but there was only so much excitement to go around the department.

“I’m going to miss you Tanaka, you know that,” is what Daichi settles on, resting a palm on Tanaka’s shoulder and letting his now-former partner wail for a little while longer.

At first, Daichi’s transfer to the white collar crime unit involves a lot more paperwork than he ever thought possible.  He spends nights pouring over spreadsheets, looking for discrepancies in financial figures that might otherwise be written off as routine errors.  He provides assistance for his new partner, Sugawara, who goes undercover often.  He learns more about fine art than he ever thought possible.

He gets used to putting together the pieces of real-world puzzles from behind his desk or in a crowded backup van.  Which is why, when Suga excuses himself from an undercover mission and leadership taps Daichi to take his place, Daichi is pretty sure he’s a dead man walking.

“Nervous?” Suga asks, grinning as he adjusts Daichi’s tie lapel, and the small camera hidden therein.  He looks quite pleased with himself, as per usual.

“Oh, definitely,” Daichi mumbles, “But that’s normal, right?”

Suga snickers, “Hell yeah, I nearly passed out on my way to my first undercover mission.  And, if it helps, you don’t look nervous at all.”

And hasn’t that always been one of Daichi’s strong suits – keeping cool under pressure.

In fact, as he enters the crowded, ritzy ballroom, Daichi finds it remarkably easy to fall into conversation with the other attendees.  He’s posing as an employee of Tanabe Pharmaceuticals; it was Tanabe-san, after all, who requested police support, alleging that there was a kidnapping plot against him.  There was, apparently, a plan to use the pomp and circumstance of the party as a distraction in order to abduct Tanabe-san or another high-ranking employee in order to extract a handsome ransom.

The threat apparently came from the Seijou syndicate, which is why Daichi and the white collar crimes unit had been assigned to the case.  Any chance to take down Seijou, one of the most notorious white collar crime gangs, couldn’t be passed up.

But it all seems a bit suspect to Daichi.  Seijou was never known for their use of force; the opposite, in fact.  They were always packing heat but never seemed to fire.  Not to mention the fact that Seijou had never kidnapped anyone before, preferring to stick to blackmail – less messy, more cost-effective.

Still, Daichi thinks, it isn’t his place to judge whether a threat is credible or not.  Right now, his job is to suss out any potential Seijou agent, which seems, in and of itself, to be a fool’s errand.  With the exception of Iwaizumi Hajime, the rest of Seijou has thus far avoided being caught on camera without a disguise, or revealing any damning personal details.  It’s frustrating the level of anonymity they retain, even in infamy.

Most of the people at the party are fairly dull, and Daichi has no problem figuring out what their real motivations are.  Attention, money, a wealthy husband, another drink.  Everyone wants something, and it’s written as plain as day on their faces.

Except for Tooru.  Daichi strikes up a conversation with him on a whim, thinking it strange to see such a handsome man without a date simpering at his side.  They trade quips for half an hour or so and Daichi still has no idea what to make of Tooru; has no idea what he really here for.

But he’s beginning to have his suspicions.

“Did you want to take a walk?” Daichi asks, finishing his drink and setting the glass down on an empty table, “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

A lie, but one that Tooru repeats, “It is.  And that would be lovely.”

Daichi leads the way toward the ballroom’s attached balcony, a massive concrete rectangle jutting out of the hotel in a way that would be unattractive if not for the cool night air it affords.  Tooru falls into step with him, hands in his pockets as they chat, mostly about nothing – the weather, the hotel, the trials of living in the city.

There are two things about Tooru that strike Daichi as odd.  First is the careful way he speaks, chatty without any depth, always dancing around the topic in a way that’s both charming and infuriating.  With anyone else, Daichi might not have even noticed.  But there’s something about the tilt of Tooru’s smirk and the mischievous glint behind his eyes that makes Daichi desperately want to know more about him, and what frustrates him with Tooru’s skin-deep small talk.

The second odd thing is the way Tooru reacts to the words coming out of his own mouth, sometimes with a miniscule wince or sheepish grin.  It takes Daichi a bit of time to see it, but it’s there, a tiny facial tic that might have gone unnoticed if Daichi wasn’t studying Tooru’s face so closely.

“So, what do you think of Chairman Li?” Tooru asks, pausing to lean against the balcony railing, “Since you’re friends with Tanabe-san and all.”

It’s the first time the actual purpose of the party has come up, and Daichi pauses, “I’m not sure I know enough about him to pass judgement.”

“Don’t see how that’s possible,” Tooru snorts, “No one likes the limelight more than that guy, his entire life’s story is all over the internet.”

“Well,” Daichi amends his statement, “I guess all I can say is that it’s… dangerous for Tanabe-san to be partnering with someone so high-profile.  Or so I’ve heard.”

And _that_ certainly gets Tooru’s attention, just as intended.  He turns toward Daichi, resting his chin in his palm, “You know, I have a room upstairs.”

“Do you now?”

There it is again, Daichi notices, that small facial tic.  This time it’s a pregnant pause followed by a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s just thought of something funny and is trying not to laugh.

“Yep,” Tooru says, popping the p, “I’m tired of this party, and I’m _pretty_ sure you are too.”

Daichi gives a mock bow, spreading an arm back towards the hotel lobby, “By all means, lead the way.”

That startles a laugh out of Tooru, who gives Daichi another appraising look, head tilted to the side, “Turns out you’re not such a boring guy after all.”

 

+

 

Oikawa knows he doesn’t mean to be, but Iwaizumi can be a bit of a downer sometimes.  Always going on about _safety_ and _priorities_ and _I swear to god, Oikawa if you make me listen to you make out with this guy I’m—_

Merciful as always, Oikawa discreetly mutes his comm link as he and Daichi step into the gaudy, gold-plated elevator, pressing the button for the 52nd floor.  Daichi is remarkably adept at pretending like he doesn’t know exactly what’s about to happen, even as Oikawa pulls at the lapels of his suit jacket, until they’re chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose.

“Subtle, I see,” Daichi jokes, and his lips are so close that Oikawa can feel them moving against his own as he speaks; kissing without kissing.

“Subtlety is overrated,” Oikawa says, nipping at Daichi’s mouth before finally closing the distance between them, kissing him in a hurried, frantic way, open-mouthed and dirty.

And self-indulgent, as it were.  As far as Oikawa is concerned, this is a pretty win-win situation: Daichi clearly knows something about what’s really happening behind closed doors when it comes to the new partnership between Chairman Li and Tanabe Pharma.  And whatever he does know is sure to be valuable –Iwaizumi had no information on Daichi, no file, no facematch.  All Oikawa has to do is get him alone, get him vulnerable, and take advantage.

And, as an added bonus, Oikawa is quite enjoying making out with him.

Daichi is aggressive, gripping Oikawa’s hips tight enough to bruise, pinning him against the wood-paneled interior of the elevator and devouring his kisses desperately, licking into his mouth like he’s looking for something.  Oikawa is hanging on for dear life, one hand gripping Daichi’s suit jacket, the other tugging at Daichi’s hair, trying to elicit some kind of reaction out of him.

What Oikawa gets when he pulls at Daichi’s hair is just pure _want_ – Daichi moves his hands up to grip at Oikawa’s waist, and Oikawa marvels at how small he feels in Daichi’s grip.  Oikawa may be taller, but Daichi has him crowded up against the wall, a knee separating his legs grinding temptingly against the seam of Oikawa’s crotch as Daichi captures Oikawa’s mouth in another kiss, barely leaving him time to catch his breath.

It all comes to an end too quickly; the innocent _ding_ of the elevator as they reach their destination, and the doors slide open, exposing them to a (thankfully unoccupied) hallway.

Daichi pulls away, looking remarkably unaffected by their frantic make out session.  He straightens his tie, runs a hand through his hair, and gestures to the hallway.

“Shall we?”

Oikawa – hair mussed, mouth red, and half hard in his dress pants – wonders absentmindedly if he’s met his match.

 

 

 

Once in the hotel room, Oikawa excuses himself to the bathroom, ignoring Daichi’s satisfied face, and turns his comm link back on.

“Oikawa, I swear to— out of all the stupid, irresponsible,” Iwaizumi is ranting again.  Actually, he might have never stopped.

“C’mon, Iwa-chan, I’ve done way, _way_ worse things than make out with a guy in an elevator,” Oikawa says, running the faucet to hide his voice, a low whisper directly into the microphone.

“Something’s off about this guy,” Iwaizumi says, “I agree that he might be useful but… it’s odd, I really have nothing on him.  That’s not good.”

“Or it’s really good,” Oikawa points out, “I have a hunch.  Did Makki and Wattachi find anything good?”

Iwaizumi gives him the quick rundown of what the rest of Seijou have been able to piece together throughout the night, a combination of overheard conversations and some hotel room sleuthing.  They’ve unearthed plenty of blackmail material, which is a great money-maker, and a well that never seems to run dry – these buttoned-up politicians and businessmen just can’t seem to help themselves. But not many details about the backroom business deal.  Some valuable information will certainly be changing hands behind-the-scenes, most likely illegally-obtained information about competitors.

“Probably not worth our trouble,” Iwaizumi says, “Can’t resell material like that.  Makki and Watari are raiding the hotel reserves right now for extra cash and then I say we head out.”

“Or, maybe it’s something better,” Oikawa whispers, turning off the faucet and loosening his tie.  He remembers something Daichi said about Tanabe supposedly being in danger, and something clicks together in his head, “I think we’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”

“Can you stop speaking in riddle for two damn seconds—”

Oikawa cuts him off, “I’ll meet you outside in an hour!  See you soon, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t have time to protest; Oikawa’s already cut off their comm link and tucked the microphone and earpiece into his back pocket.  He undoes his tie and tucks it into his other pocket, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and stretching his neck as he heads back into the room.

“You know how to keep a guy waiting,” Daichi says, grinning.  He’s leaned back against the headboard of the massive, king-sized mattress.

“Straight to the bed, huh?” Oikawa shakes his head but can’t hide his own grin, climbing on the bed and crawling toward Daichi until he’s close enough to press a small kiss to the underside of Daichi’s chin.

Daichi, so aggressive before, is suddenly pliant under Oikawa’s hands, which smooth up his chest as he kisses along Daichi’s jawline, sucking small, pink spots into the skin there.  Daichi lets out a long, shivering sigh as Oikawa climbs into his lap, pinning him against the bed.

“Something tells me you’ve got me right where you want me,” Daichi mumbles, voice thick with arousal.

“Funny,” Oikawa smiles, reaching for Daichi’s tie and, more specifically, his tie clip, unpinning it and holding it up between them between his thumb and forefinger, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

Daichi’s face goes pale, “Hold on—”

“Pretty nice,” Oikawa says, settling himself in Daichi’s lap and observing the tie pin with faux innocence, “I’m impressed you guys are well-resourced enough for this kind of tech.”

“We get by,” Daichi says, teeth gritted.

“No live feed though, right?” Oikawa says, and Daichi’s silence is answer enough for him, “Too small for that, probably.  And you’re not wearing an earpiece either, so you’re really flying blind, huh?”

The look on Daichi’s face tells Oikawa that he’s right.  With no one in his ear and no one able to watch the video captured by the camera in his tie pin in real time, Daichi really is completely disconnected.  And yet, he thought he could get the upper hand on Oikawa.

“You’re from Seijou, aren’t you?  You’re the leader, Oikawa Tooru,” Daichi says, and this time it’s Oikawa’s turn to go pallid with worry, “I’m guessing you don’t want me to make it back to the precinct with that video intact?”

“Rather not,” Oikawa says, “So it’s a good thing I’ve already got it, huh?”

Oikawa really should have expected what comes next.  Daichi juts his head forward, headbutting his forehead against Oikawa’s nose, startling him into dropping the tie pin, which Daichi snatches with a triumphant yelp.  Then, Daichi throws an elbow into Oikawa’s stomach, rolling off the bed as Oikawa tumbles in the other direction.

By the time they’re both standing, on opposite sides of the bed, they’ve both got guns drawn, pointed squarely at each other.

“Hey, I’m bleeding!” Oikawa yelps, feeling the blood dripping down his nose with his free hand, other hand gripping his gun.

“I thought it was only fair,” Daichi says, though he does look a bit apologetic, “What’s really going on here?  I know you’re not actually trying to kidnap Tanabe-san.”

“Is that what you all thought?  Cops are so funny,” Oikawa laughs, “That’s not really our MO.  But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

He takes a step toward Daichi, who takes an instinctive step backwards, maintaining the distance between them, “That guy is wilier than I thought, calling in a fake kidnapping threat,” Oikawa continues, “Which means something bigger is going on here.”

“And you know what that is,” Daichi ventures.

“Now I do.  Or, well, I have an idea,” Oikawa says.  And, when he sees Daichi start to lower his gun, “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

But Daichi looks unfazed, stepping toward Oikawa until he’s eye-level with the barrel of Oikawa’s gun, until the cool metal makes contact with his forehead.  The look Daichi is giving him is unreadable, deadly confident, and Oikawa swallows hard.

“I know you won’t shoot,” Daichi says, cool as anything.

“How do you know?” Oikawa’s voice trembles infinitesimally, but he’s sure Daichi can hear it, “It would be easier, wouldn’t it?  A shame we never got to fuck, though.  But the only good cop is a dead cop, after all.”

“I think you know better than that,” Daichi smiles, reaching up to close his hand around Oikawa’s where it’s wrapped around the handle of his gun.  He lowers it, until Oikawa finally succumbs, holstering it in the inside of his suit jacket with a huff.

How many years had it been since Oikawa started running cons on people?  How many years of avoiding even the most attentive and talented detectives, running circles around local authorities?  How many years of seducing chumps for easy information and a good lay?  To have some rookie with a nice smile and a good jawline corner him would have Oikawa’s blood boiling if it weren’t for the fact that he’s so desperate to know more about this guy.

Oikawa folds his arms tight around his chest, “What now, then?”

“Now,” Daichi holds his hand out, the tie pin in the center of his palm; a literal and figurative olive branch, “I think we make a deal.”

 

+

 

Oikawa is meticulous as he cleans the hotel room.  He scrubs every drop of blood from his earlier nosebleed, picks every hair off every pillow, disinfects every surface, makes the bed, fluffs the pillows.  By the time Oikawa finally signals to Daichi that he’s ready to leave, the room looks immaculate, as if no one ever stepped foot into it.

“Now I know why no one can ever find you,” Daichi mumbles.  He’s almost impressed.  Or, rather, he’s _definitely_ impressed.

Oikawa just shrugs as they re-enter the elevator.  This time, the mood is somber and tense, and they ride in silence to the basement floor, where someone else from Seijou will be meeting them.  Oikawa tersely fills him on the details of what the rest of the Seijou gang have been able to figure out about Tanabe-san.  From the sound of it, there’s an illegal drug swap happening later that night at Tanabe headquarters

“While you’re all distracted by this fake kidnapping deal,” Oikawa says, “I bet you have a lot of backup around the building, right?”

Daichi doesn’t tell him he’s right – even though he is.

They enter the basement parking garage, full of cars but abandoned as the party continues upstairs.  Oikawa’s face, formerly so serious and thoughtful, splits into a smile as they turn the corner and see a bulky man next to a large, black motorcycle, a helmet cocked against his hip.

“Iwa-chan!  You came!”

“Of course I came, idiot.”

Iwaizumi Hajime.  Daichi has heard of him – a former Yakuza member turned criminal informant who went rogue and was imprisoned.  At least until Oikawa and the rest of Seijou managed to orchestrate his escape.  The legends about him get increasingly out of hand every time Daichi hears them, passed around the office like candy.   _I heard he snapped a guy’s spine in half for looking at him funny_ or _He’s the heir to the largest Yakuza family but gave it all up_ or _He can punch straight through concrete!_

Iwaizumi is one of the most wanted men in Japan.  But right now, he looks soft, almost harmless as Oikawa approaches him, pinching his cheek fondly.

“Iwa-chan, give him the flash drive!” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi does so wordlessly, handing Daichi a small micro-USB, “That’ll have all the intel we have on Tanabe-san.  Pretty scummy guy, as it turns out.”

“Thanks,” Daichi says, voice thick, “This is yours, then.”

He hands Oikawa the tie pin, and the camera therein, but Oikawa pouts as he considers it, “I think I want something else, actually!”

“What’s that?”

“A favor,” Iwaizumi says, startling Daichi.

“Yes,” Oikawa purrs, pressing his palms together, “A favor would be nice.”

“The favor is that I’m not arresting you right now,” Daichi snaps, “Or turning that video over to my superiors, or telling them I know about you at all.”

“Dai-chan!” Oikawa whines, grabbing Daichi’s tie and tugging him closer, until they’re nose-to-nose once again.  This time, though, Daichi doesn’t feel as in control as he did during their elevator rendezvous.

“A favor,” Oikawa repeats, “Nothing that will trouble you, I promise.”

The moment Daichi opens his mouth to croak out a reluctant _okay_ , shots ring out, the sound of a bullet hitting concrete rattling around in Daichi’s ear.

Oikawa lets him go, and in an instant he’s climbing onto the motorcycle behind Iwaizumi, who revs the engine as Daichi sees some familiar faces round the corner, guns drawn.  It’s Suga, clad in a bulletproof vest, with five or six cops behind him.  Another shot hits the ground next to the motorcycle’s tire, a near miss.

“See you, Dai-chan!” Daichi hears Oikawa yell, the tone of his voice still jovial even with half a dozen guns trained on him.  One last rev of the engine and they’re gone with a squeal of tires, one last bullet hitting the concrete floor where the motorcycle had been just a half-second ago.

“You okay?” Suga is out of breath, clasping Daichi’s shoulder while the rest of the squad disperses, looking for the rest of Seijou.  Daichi has no doubt they’re all long gone by now.

“Yeah,” Daichi swallows and tries again, his voice steadier this time, “Yeah I’m fine.”

“That was Oikawa, wasn’t it?” Suga says, grinning, “You get a good picture of him?”

Daichi pauses, and the cufflinks on his wrist suddenly feel heavy.  Of course he had a second camera, hidden in his left cufflink.  The tie pin was always a convenient bargaining chip, just in case something went awry.  And of course he got a good picture of the elusive Seijou leader Oikawa, something that will certainly gain him praise and accolades from his entire unit.

It should be easy to tell Suga that.  But what Daichi finds himself saying, as he stares hard at the point where the concrete of the parking garage meets the asphalt of the road is, “No.”

“No?  What happened?”

“He cornered me,” Daichi mumbles, slipping the cufflink into his pocket and holding up his bare wrist for Suga to see, “Got both cameras.”

“Well, it was always a longshot,” Suga sighs, “Those Seijou fuckers are slippery.”

“I think you’ll want to see this, though,” Daichi says, holding up the flash drive Iwaizumi had handed him, “Apparently Tanabe-san falsified the kidnapping threat.  Drug deal going down tonight at their headquarters.”

Suga raises an eyebrow, “No shit?  Looks like you had a pretty wild night after all.”

That’s one way to put it, Daichi thinks.

 

+

 

To: Sawamura Daichi  
From: Unknown  
Received: 20XX 08 27, 14:48

that was fun daichan lets do it again soon  
im looking forward to cashing in that favor~

 

To: Unknown  
From: Sawamura Daichi  
Sent: 20XX 08 27, 14:50

Is this Oikawa?

 

To: Sawamura Daichi  
From: Unknown  
Received: 20XX 08 27 14:51

ERROR 025: SMS not delivered - number is disconnected.


End file.
